Fool at the Quarry Lake

Irina had just turned eighteen, which seemed like sufficient reason to drag her to the quarry lake for the afternoon. I’d blended banana milkshakes myself, which felt ambitious, and then proceeded to lose every single hand of Durak—a Russian card game where the loser is literally called the fool. She destroyed me. We sat in the sun until we were soft from it, then went home and watched a Married with Children marathon until we were equally soft from that.

Today it’s even hotter. I’m going to cook on the roof terrace until I absolutely have to come inside to catch The O.C. Some priorities are non-negotiable.